At last he really went, reluctantly, I admit; but the other customers—who had all become so engrossed in his lawn that they couldn’t remember what they had come in to buy for themselves—heaved a sigh of relief.
Slowly he made his way to the middle of the wide crossing just in front of the shop. You knew by his hesitating walk that there was another question he had meant to ask, but he couldn’t recall it for the moment.
Yes! He suddenly turned round briskly (and nearly ended the lawn under a taxi), the shop-door opened again, and an anxious voice inquired, “What ought I to do if the birds get at the seeds in spite of the black cotton and the bits of white rag tied to them?”
The manager passed his hand across what looked like an aching brow, and further braced himself to do his duty; but a gentleman customer came to the rescue by replying, “It is usual, in such a case, sir, to buy another packet of grass seed, and start all over again on exactly the same lines as before, only you plant an extra reel of black cotton this time.”
After this we were able to inquire of the manager what crops he would advise us to plant as our contribution to the nation’s larder, to say nothing of our own.
“Onions,” he said, so promptly that one would have thought others had asked the same question. And then added—“Giant Rocca.”
I am not sure how many pounds of seed Ursula immediately ordered; she proposed to make it a present to me, and naturally wished to be generous. Virginia says she believes she heard her say a half-a-hundredweight. Anyhow, the obliging manager asked, with a slight cough, how large a portion of ground we were intending to cultivate, as half an ounce would be sufficient for—I forget how many acres! So she reduced her order to half a pound. She said she didn’t want us to run short. (I don’t fancy we shall, either!) Besides, she rather liked the name “Giant Rocca.” It suggested something large and strengthening wherewith to combat the foe.
We hadn’t a moment’s rest after we arrived at the cottage until the onion seed was well underground. Ursula decided that it would be really a blessing if I would go out—she could then plant in peace.
The handy man being unable to “oblige” me by doing a little work just then, she had decided to plant the seeds herself.